


Like Real People Do

by Tfw_ur_illegally_blind



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff, Hair Brushing, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Blood/Wounds, cottage core techno house, idk what to say please help, if theres other tags to add please tell me im crying idk anymore, its an au its not set in canon at all, its not graphic really?, mcyt - Freeform, soft, techno has a cat named anarchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28521108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tfw_ur_illegally_blind/pseuds/Tfw_ur_illegally_blind
Summary: aka technosimps come get yall's juiceThe house always seemed louder when Techno wasn’t home. Technoblade himself wasn’t loud; far from it actually, but he undeniably took all of your focus. Sometimes it was nice to just hear your home, practically buzzing with warmth.---You pull the door open and are greeted with the one person you didn’t expect. Technoblade leans heavily on the door frame with one arm, sword still tightly gripped in the opposite hand. Sweat and blood are soaked into the front of his white shirt, framing the rips and cuts throughout the fabric. The sword is steadily dripping blood to the ground, his hand coated in it, still wet and red.“Holy fuck.”
Relationships: Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)/Reader
Comments: 44
Kudos: 358





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) there's like no techno fics at all, much less reader or comfort ones, so here ya go. i am a ~she/they~ but i believe the reader can be perceived as any gender :)) hopefully this is not shit <3 enjoy  
> fic notes from when i was crying while writing:  
> Bitches be like: craves affection but are terrified of bothering people so they write a 4+ page fic in which a man loves them unconditionally and will hold them.  
> Smh  
> Anyways heres wonderwall https://youtu.be/yrleydRwWms  
> (if the cc states at any point that they are uncomfortable with fanworks itll be taken down, dont share it to the cc, yada yada yall know the drill. please respect the cc and I's boundaries )

The house always seemed louder when Techno wasn’t home. Maybe it was because you weren’t so distracted; you could hear the humming of the heater and the soft noises of Anarchy brushing against walls and stumbling down the stairs on her three paws. Technoblade himself wasn’t loud; far from it actually, but he undeniably took all of your focus. Sometimes it was nice to just hear your home, practically buzzing with warmth. 

Speaking of buzzing, the bees were coming back to your garden as spring crept in, flooding the fields surrounding your home with sunlight and blooming flowers. Soon the farmland behind the house would be lush with wheat, carrots, and potatoes. Techno always seemed brighter then, something so calm and gentle bringing him happiness.

You’re startled from your daze by a loud thud accompanied by even louder meowing. Twisting from your comfortable seat on the couch you see Anarchy flopped down next to the bottom of the stairs, lazily flicking her ears as she kneads at the carpet with her one front paw, digging claws into the floor. 

“Hey. Hey!” Her ears twitch in your direction but she otherwise ignores your call. You sigh and look away, leaving her to destroy the weaving of the rug. You can clean it up later. You’ve been attempting to read a book Wilbur recommended you for the past half an hour but keep getting lost in the light spilling into the room and the smell of your rhubarb tea, steam curling around you. The book is interesting enough, a rather violent tale about a kingdom being destroyed, but you felt so warm and comfortable.  _ It can wait for some other time _ , you think as you gently push a slip of paper between the pages and set the book aside. 

You pick up your tea cup, now just slightly warm but still drinkable, cupping it in your palms as you sip. Techno had always hated almost every tea, always wincing at the taste after you convinced him to try yet another. Still, a cupboard in the kitchen overflowed with packets and tea bags, collected from his many adventures to keep you warm while he was gone. Well, that's what you assumed they were for. You’d told him once, standing in the garden with dirt streaked across your palms, that tea made it hurt less when he was gone. Made you feel warm and safe, reminding you of how he felt. He hadn’t responded in the moment, grumbling something into the dirt in front of where he knelt but you hadn’t run out of tea since that day, new flavors always appearing in the kitchen without comment. 

He was surprisingly generous with you; well, you didn’t find it surprising but apparently most others did. Giving was a perfectly valid love language, especially coming from a man starved of verbal and physical affection to the point of isolation. So if he expressed love by building you a flower garden and showering you with tea you could get by stealing gentle touches to his arms and braiding his hair back for him. It was enough. Any of him at all would be enough.

You blink out of your thoughts, for the second time now, realizing your tea has finally gone cold in your hands. You exhale lightly, the surface of the liquid rippling slightly, and slowly stand to bring the cup to the kitchen. 

Your knees creak and back aches as you get up, reminders of sparring practice yesterday and a knee injury that never quite healed right. The night you had met Techno, the moment he’s told you he has nightmares about, unable to protect you from the monsters, never finding you in time. But the wound from an explosion is only a dull ache and painful memory now, a reason for him to hold you tighter at night. You haven’t limped months, almost a year, and though you doubt it will ever fade, the nightmares lessen.

After stretching out a bit of the tightness you head to the kitchen, Arc plodding along with you, apparently having become bored with destroying the carpet. The room is so bright, sun bouncing off of smooth white tiles, and dust particles hanging in the air, undisturbed by movement for most of the day. Arc distracted herself with tugging at the ruffled curtain handing next to the sliding door as you empty your cup into the sink, turning on the faucet to rinse it under the cool water.

As you dry the cup, sliding a towel along the inside, a knock sounds against the front door. You flinch and the cup slips from your fingers for a moment before you catch it again. After a harsh exhale you straighten from your bent position, setting the cup carefully on the counter, before heading to answer the door.  _ Did Techno mention anyone coming by? _ You wonder, drying a hand off on your shorts absently.  _ Maybe Philza is picking something up _ . The boys would often stop by, bearing a variety of gifts, to get the things Techno made or found for them. Often you’d open the door to Tommy, arms full of poppies, beaming up at you as he once again came to pick up more armor. 

You pull the door open and are greeted with the one person you didn’t expect. Technoblade leans heavily on the door frame with one arm, sword still tightly gripped in the opposite hand. Sweat and blood are soaked into the front of his white shirt, framing the rips and cuts throughout the fabric. The sword is steadily dripping blood to the ground, his hand coated in it, still wet and red. 

“Holy fuck.” Wide eyed you stare at his torso, uncomprehending.

“Hey. It’s uh- it’s not mine.” He has the audacity to smile,  _ smile at you,  _ as he stands there, literally dripping blood. 

“Holy  _ fuck _ .” Suddenly you’re in your right mind again, the panic finally setting in. “Holy fuck. Oh my god. Holy fuck.”

“Stop saying that, please,” Techno grumbles as you reach for him, frantically patting him down and checking each rip in his clothing. “I’m not even hurt, I told you it’s not mine.” He slowly steps forward, pushing the two of you inside and closing the door behind him. 

Ignoring Techno because he is clearly wrong, you finally find the source of the blood on the back of his hand; a large slash at the top of his arm that steadily bled, sluggish but still very much open. “You dumbass you literally have a giant ass cut in your arm! Sit, sit down.” You can’t keep the shake out of your voice as you push him onto the couch, hands practically vibrating as you hover around him. 

“That’s it I promise, that’s the only one.” Your breath is speeding up but then his warm hands are wrapping around yours, a hand on your waist, gently pulling you against him. “It’s ok. I’m sorry, everything is ok.” 

Everything most definitely wasn’t ok but you didn’t fight him as he tugged you onto his lap, pressing your forehead under his jaw as you stroked your back.  _ Inhale, exhale. He’s come home worse than this. _

“There you go, easy breathing.” If Techno could coo, this is what it would sound like; voice quiet and breath ruffling your hair.  _ Easy breathing. _

“I’m ok. Ok,” you finally get out, voice cracking slightly from how tight your throat is. You gently push his arm off, hauling yourself to your feet. “Just… wait here. I’ll get the medical kit.” He just smiles gently, relaxing back into the couch but showing no signs of discomfort. You can feel your chest loosening at the sight and give a faint smile back before stepping away to find the supplies you’ll need. 

A minute later you’re at his side again with the bag and a damp cloth from the bathroom in hand. He still is calm, breathing even and eyes focused. All good signs but then again, his pain tolerance is a lot higher than it should be. He shifts on the couch, patting the spot next to him and you almost sit before stopping. 

“We need to take your top off first.” You know he can tell you feel bad for asking, even after all this time, even after how willing he always is. You just never want to force it on him, so fragile to touch and vulnerability. He doesn’t hesitate though, easily reaching to unclasp his cloak and begins to pull it off himself. With some help it comes off, exposing a clean sleeve underneath on one side and a bloody gash on the other. The shirt is harder, having to be eased over each arm, and you wince everytime his breath catches. 

Finally everything is off and bare skin is exposed to the air, damp with sweat and firm with muscle. Techno had been right, that was the only cut, but bruises littered his chest and what appeared to be a slight burn, perhaps from friction, was blooming red across his shoulder and right pectoral. The air rushes out of you in relief and this time you allow him to pull you down till you’re sitting, knees pressed close to his thigh. 

“I told you it was ok. I promised.” You nod along because he did, he did promise. And he didn’t lie to you, not about this, not anymore. You leaned closer to inspect the cut on his arm, not flinching when his hand gently brushes over your knee and onto your thigh. 

The bleeding was much slower than you had thought, barely any blood coming to the surface now, but the skin around it was caked with blood, sweat, and dirt. Settling the kit onto Techno’s lap with the top open you begin to wipe down the surrounding skin. The first layer of grime came off quickly, staining the cloth with a rusty brown. You did your best to be careful but Techno had never shown any signs of pain during this before; through gentle cleanings to literal surgery, which you were far from experienced enough to perform. But still, even though you knew he’d never wince away, you kept your motions soft and short.

Within a few minutes the cloth is rendered useless, simply smearing the color around instead of cleaning. You drop it to the floor, trusting Arc to ignore the stench of it, and tug a bottle of cleanser out of the pouch. The scent wafts up as you twist the cap off and you inhale it deeply, thankful for anything that doesn’t smell like blood. It bubbles against your hand as you pour it over a fresh cloth, letting the soft white fabric absorb it. Techno’s hand rubs a steady pattern against your inner thigh, brushing to your knee and back as he traces mindlessly. Well, likely not mindlessly; you’re sure the pattern is specifically curated to force your body to relax. But mindless enough.

When you first press the towel to his bicep your brace yourself for the sting you know it brings, before slowly dragging it across the wound. The room is quiet as you work, hyper-focused on Technoblade’s unfaltering breath. Once it’s cleaned up more you can see the depth of the cut and shakily swallow. 

“It won't need stitches. You can take a healing potion and rest and it should be alright.” Techno hums in assent, hand stilling to gently squeeze your leg. 

“That should take care of the bruises as well.” He smiles at you, so soft and warm on his harsh cut face, littered with bloody splashes and scars. Smiling back is instinctual, the tingle in your chest spreading upwards at the sight of him, happy and safe.

You blink, turning away from his gaze, and pick yourself up off the couch again. “I’ll go get that. Do… Do you want to take a bath? It will help with the aches and clean up,” you ask, a not-so-silent plea for him to allow himself to be taken care of. 

After a brief stare off, his red glare turns soft and he sighs quietly before nodding, gathering the aid kit up onto an arm. He’s already standing by the time you offer a hand to help him up but he just presses your palms together, weaving his fingers through yours.

You walk to the cupboard in the kitchen, releasing his hand to reach in and grab one of the bottles, cradling it with both hands as the pink liquid swirls inside. Then you’re walking up the stairs, Techno’s hand on the small of your back. 

The bathroom is large, being the only one in the house except a small one downstairs. The large window spills light across the tiled flooring which you quickly cross to turn on the bath. Brass handles turn easily and soon warm water is splashing down to fill the basin. 

Techno begins to strip off his pants as you work, carefully portioning oils and the potion into the bath. The water doesn’t change color as you pour the healing potion in, just shimmering in an unusual way. After the other oils and solutions are added in, a faint woody scent is rising from the water due to the plant bases of many of the additions.

You step back and smile, tight lipped, gesturing at the bath. He steps forward and you can see how he’s being careful with you; shoulders purposefully loose, hands low and posture soft. It works though, even if you can tell he’s faking it, and you allow him to stand front to front with you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders with how tall he is. Your hands slide around his waist, curling into fists at his back as you lean against his warm chest. For a moment the room is quiet, so quiet, in the way it only ever is when Techno is home. But after a second your nose catches the sharp scent of blood and you pull yourself away, his hand still cupping the side of your neck.

“You should get in,” you mumble, tipping your head towards the bath. With a kiss to your forehead he listens, dropping all points of contact with you.

Techno sinks into the water, steam curling up around his shoulders as he gingerly lowers himself. Already the bath is tinted a dusty pink as blood and dirt are soaked off. He settles with a grunt, chest almost fully submerged but not quite with his size. The end of his ponytail dips into the water in front of him, spreading like a fan in the water.

You tug a stool out from the corner, sitting at the edge of the tub behind him and settling a hand on his shoulder. You wait as he turns carefully, eyes sharp as they trace over your hands, across your clothes, and flick around the room. It doesn’t make you insecure like it did the first time, the thought that he doesn’t trust you. Now you know, have seen, how he cannot trust anyone or anything. It’s not about you, it’s about what everyone else has done to him. There won’t be exceptions in his precautions and you've grown to be thankful for it, how safe he is. It protects him after all, but also you; dangers your senses can’t quite pick up on easily caught by Techno’s.

You tune back in to him drifting off, apparently appeased with the state of the room. His head lolls back against the ceramic, eyes lidded almost to the point of being shut, hiding the hazy red. Lucky for you, a warm blush is spreading across his skin with the heat of the water, fading it closer to a piglin’s skin tone. He looks so pretty like this in a way no one else ever gets to see, cheeks pink and face relaxed. Your hands are in his hair without hesitation, pulling it off his shoulder and letting the strands spill across your lap. 

You don’t get to do this often, but it’s happened enough now that you’ve established a set up. Bath oils and salts lined up on the windowsill, a brush and comb in the corner. You pick up the brush first. It’s handle is a soft brown wood, bristles flexible and gentle. Beginning at the ends, you slowly brush through the pink hair. It’s a long process, what with how much hair Technoblade has and how incredibly tangled it gets during battles. His hair isn’t as dirty as it could have been, likely due to him pulling it up into a ponytail before he left. It always got worse when it was loose, often getting choppily cut as well. 

As you slide the brush through his hair, gently bunching it together to ensure the tangles don't hurt as they are pulled apart, Techno’s shoulders slowly sink down as he relaxes against you. Head lolling to the side slightly against the edge of the tub, he lets out a quiet little huff of a noise. 

“Feels alright?” you ask, biting back a smile just in time as Techno turns to make lazy eye contact. He’s quiet, eyes hazy, and doesn’t respond till you give his hair a quick tug, pulling him back to the present.

“Hmm?” You don’t hide your smile this time, beaming down at him. 

“You zoned out there for a bit lovely. The brushing doesn’t hurt, does it?” 

“Nah,” he mumbles. “Feels nice. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” You lean down, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, lingering with your lips against his skin as he leans up into the touch. The light fuzz of his face and pink skin is damp from steam.  _ And sweat, _ you think, pulling back at the faint taste of salt. 

Twenty minutes later the water that fills the tub and hangs in droplets along Technoblade’s neck has lost its heat. His hair spills silky smooth across your thighs as you card your fingers through it, letting it hang loose instead of braiding it like you usually would. Techno’s eyes have slipped closed and your chest burns at the idea of having to disturb him, but you ignore it. 

“The water is getting cold love. Come let me dress you?” The noise Technoblade made was caught somewhere between a purr and a hum of agreement as he leaned forward, out of your hands. You stood carefully, pushing the stool off to the side as his spine popped when he twisted with a grunt. The water sloshes as he steps onto the mat on the floor and accepts the towel from your ready reach. Every towel in the house is huge, to fit Techno’s body, almost twice the size of your own. He’d offered to get some in your size but you preferred to dry off draped in fabric that smelled of him and spilled to the floor when you walked. 

When Techno was finished drying himself off (shaking his hair and flicking his ears to get water off like a dog), you towed him along by the hand to your room. As he put underclothes on you searched through the large closet full of hanging shirts. Settling on a soft gray sweater you turned back to Techno. He was standing in the middle of the room besides the bed, chest bare and the soft pink hair that covered his skin fluffy and soft. 

“I can put my own clothes on,” he huffs as you push him back, sitting him on the bed before plopping yourself down onto his knees. 

“I know, but what’s the fun in that?” You tease, inspecting his arm and chest. The potion had worked nicely so the skin was already smoothed over again, only faint scarring remaining. Satisfied you grab the bottom of the sweater, raising an eyebrow at him until he lifts his arms up, his sigh blowing across your cheeks. 

Within minutes the two of you are back on the couch downstairs, your socks pressing against the arm of the couch as Techno and you kiss, his arm secure across your thighs on his lap and your chest warmed as you lean against his sweater. Arc settles between your ankles on the couch, purring loudly, and Techno pulls back to smile at her. Relaxing your shoulders you fall against his shoulder, letting out a quiet oof and turning your face into his neck. You can feel the tendons pull as he stroked Anarchy’s fur and kiss your smile into his skin. The house is warm and quiet, all of your loves close and safe. Safe and so, so loved. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank thee for reading hopefully it was amazing and fulfilled your life. as always constructive criticism is spicy and super appreciated. also comments make me cry but it a happy way so if you are such obliged *gestures to the comment section*  
> lemme know if i should tag anything :)) love yall, please be safe and kind  
> xoxo  
> p.s. if yall know me from a server no :)))) no you dont :)))))


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